Hurt
by RemyLeVampiress
Summary: Oneshot Sonfic. The Witness thinks back to the man he used to be, the man he has become, and what he would  change. Warning: Contains drug use and masochism.


Disclaimer: I do not own the X-men or any Marvel characters at all. The lyrics are "Hurt", the version covered by Johnny Cash, the original Man in Black.

An old man sat slouched in a hard high backed chair at the front of a large room, empty except for the chair and stone columns that supported the high ceiling. He had long grey hair that fell in his face from where his head was tilted down. He was known as The Witness by those who knew him at all. The Witness gave a ragged sigh, his shoulders rising and falling with a shudder. He was so tired, tired of living this and every other reality he had been in. He felt dead inside, had for a very long time, absolutely numb to his very soul, if he even had one anymore. Sometimes he felt like he didn't.

_I hurt myself today,  
to see if I still feel,  
I focus on the pain,  
the only thing that's real,_

A glass goblet rested on the arm of the chair he sat in, the last bit of wine remained inside. Witness picked up the glass and threw its contents down his throat before smashing the glass against the chair arm causing it to shatter into tiny pieces. Left in his hand was the stem of the glass, one long point at the end with a small trace of liquid on its razor sharp edge. Witness stared with dim red eyes at the point for a moment and then placed his hand palm up to expose the inside of his arm. In one slow casual movement the Witness pressed the sharp point against the soft wrinkled skin there and dragged it across in a neat straight line. Red blood, his life force, escaped to the surface through the gash gradually. It was deep, but not deep enough to threaten his actual life, just enough to need stitches, though he would not get any. If he even bothered tending the wound, he would do it himself.

It stung like hell, and though it hurt, the Witness focused on it, welcoming the only sensation he had felt in what seemed like years. This proved he was still human, still real, that he was still capable of feeling things. There were days when Witness would stay locked away from people, days when in his solitude he would wonder if he were still alive, or if he had died without knowing it and was stuck in some version of limbo. The blood though, that kept him grounded to the planet, connected to the life he had lived.

_The needle tears a hole,  
the old familiar sting,  
try to kill it all away,  
but I remember everything,_

The Witness now sat on the balcony of his room, the sky burned red as a blazing orange sun nestled on the horizon. A hot and dry breeze set his hair to fluttering back, mimicking the same motion of the sheer red curtains separating the balcony and the bedroom. A wrought iron table detailed with intricate lacing vines and leaves was next to him, another glass of wine along with a candle, spoon, a white powdery substance, and a needle already filled. As usual he had too much time to think, to remember the life he had long ago when he loved a fiery southern bell that had fascinated as well as frustrated him. Memories tormented him, bringing back old pains, making Witness wish he could retrieve the numb state he had been in earlier. Like always when the ghosts of the pasts haunted him he sought escape any way possible be it in the bottom of a bottle or straight from a needle. This evening he opted for both as the tables contents attested to.

With hands that knew all too well the motions that would bring him release, he picked up the needle, flicking the side of it lightly to disperse any air bubbles. A dark blue vein bulged against the surface from the latex tube he had wrapped around his arm, welcoming the needle as it pierced the skin. The Witness felt the usual small twinge when the metal penetrated and he pressed down the top to inject the contents. Within a matter of seconds he felt the difference, his aged body sang out under the influence and a wave of peace washed over him. It lasted only a moment though, it seemed today his memories were more powerful than any drug he fed his body, everything came rushing back with unsettling clarity thanks to the substance he had meant to kill them.

They flashed by rapidly: images of a large family of thieves, a young teen drowning in the cold waters as he and the boy were trying to escape, an evil man with red eyes like his own who called himself a scientist though he actually tried to play God, a young African child with brilliant white hair, a group of costumed heroes united under the dream of a paraplegic man, then it was just Her. She was all beauty, emerald green eyes, a wild mane of brown hair contrasted by two white streaks, an hour glass figure his hands remembered all too well holding close, and that sweet Southern accent. He saw as much as he felt her body against his, remembered looking down at her as their bodies and minds joined in love making, making his way down an isle to her where she waited dressed in white, their passion filled honey moon afterwards. Then it all changed and he was staring down at her body, scared of the blood that poured from wounds that should never have been able to mark her body in the fist place, their friends' dead bodies scattered on the battle ground all around them, her hand touching his face weakly as she tried to speak her last words of love to him, her heart stopping before she finished and the soft scrape of her nails as her hand fell away from his cheek.

_What have I become,  
my sweetest friend,  
everyone I know,  
goes away in the end,_

The Witness tossed the empty needle on the table recklessly; it rolled over and over almost to the other side before stopping. He shut his eyes in bitter shame against the memory of who he had once been, the life he once lived. He thought of what he had become after that day, the man he was today who made a living dealing with all manners of dark things, prostitutes, drugs, black market, countless others. There wasn't a single person living today that he had known in his young days, every single one of his friends and loved ones, especially Her, were dead, more than half of their deaths he had been a witness to, earning him the name he was called by now. Every person he ever cared about had gone away to a place he could never follow, for surely his _ange_ was in Heaven where as he was destined for Hell.

_And you could have it all,  
my empire of dirt,  
I will let you down,  
I will make you hurt,_

Looking around at the riches he had acquired over time in a sad attempt to fill the emptiness he felt inside, the Witness knew at that moment he would have given it all up. Everything he owned and had built for himself in this new life, he would gladly toss away. It was nothing to him, only now did he realize it would never replace those he had lost, it would never give him the comfort of friends and family. What did he do anymore, but crush and hurt people? Was that not his existence? Making others feel the misery that he lived with every day?

_I wear this crown of thorns,  
upon my liar's chair,  
full of broken thoughts,  
I cannot repair,_

_Beneath the stains of time,  
the feelings disappear,  
you are someone else,  
I am still right here,_

Time had distanced him from the emotions of the memories, and the Witness tried hard to regain that numbness, sorry he had ever tried to feel in the first place. It was too difficult to live when old wounds were opened and ripped wider apart. Another injection and the memories ceased to affect him; he could recall them now, but in a disembodied sort of way, as if he were simply watching a movie. His chere, she was gone now, turned from a female warrior with a heart of gold and spirit of fire into a serene angel keeping company in Heaven, while he was still here on this Earth, watching it fall to pieces around him, a witness to the passing of time and the death of the world.

_(Chorus 1x)_

_If I could start again,  
a million miles away,  
I will keep myself;  
I would find a way,_

As Witness lay in bed that night, staring at a faded framed photograph on the nightstand by his bed of a handsome young man with red and black eyes and devilish smile upon his face with his arms wrapped around a beautiful woman with white stripes in her hair with a wild spirit showing in her eyes and smile, he thought back over his life. He let the scenes pass before his eyes again and he decided that if he were able to start all over again, a million miles and a life time ago, he would do everything the same up to the point his life had changed forever. If he had a chance to get back to that day, when his chere lay dying in his arms, he would make sure he died right along side of her that day, wrapping his body around hers as they took their last breaths together and closed their eyes on this world to journey on together into the next.


End file.
